When Dan was learning to drive it was a bit combative – he’s my son that likes to argue the sky is not blue if I say it is. However, Dan and I had a code. If both my feet were wedged against the glove compartment and I was shrieking insensibly, that was his signal to stop whatever-the-hell-insane-thing he was doing and listen to the words coming out of my mouth before we met a flame-filled death. Our other signals were equally as subtle and Dan is now a confident young driver. You’re welcome, world.
Lately, Ian has been my driver. Ian and Dan are entirely different people. Dan is smart. Ian is scary smart and not always grounded in “our” world. Driving with Ian is kind of surreal. One minute he’s there, the next he’s thinking big thoughts and we’re careening towards a construction wall. It’s killing me. He doesn’t notice if I’m curled into the fetal position hanging from the “Jesus” strap. He doesn’t pick up on my ‘subtle’ use of the “parent brake” on my side of the car. It’s aging me. Mike and I are encouraging him to move to a city where people don’t really need cars. Think of it as a public service. And, even as I type this, I have to admit, Ian is a good driver – really. He’s very zen about the whole process. I’m not. I’m sure by the time he gets a license I’ll feel much better about it all (see my previous posts about teaching Dan to drive). In the meantime, send me a spine and some patience.
Tim is up next. We’ll see.
Mike and I were talking this evening and we both agreed that by the time Andy is ready to drive we’ll both be OK with curling up in the back seat with a blanket and a little bottle of bourbon.
You folks with little kids are nodding and smiling – come talk to me in 10 years. You think it won’t happen to you – muhahahahaha.